The Ebb Tide
By Timothy DeMillo
September 13, 2007
Her eyes are closed, she's smiling
My little book open on her lap
In a pool of pure Spring sunlight
Upon the bench where we had sat.
She's surrounded by our Winter
And our Summer was too fast...
Alone, he comes and sees her
"Where have you been?" he gently asks.
They stroll away into their blizzard
As I ebb into our past
And that tide that posed that question
Returns golden Truth at last.
Just an old "used-to-was" guitar player from Hibbing, a slave to his Muse, in tune with today but too often, unrealistically, reaching out for yesterday...you know, like when we used to be able to see a loved one off at the airport without revealing our answer to the question: boxers or briefs? Reckon that's why I like paddlin' around a canoe on the calm waters of Lake Wobegon every weekend while listen' to those Keillor Elves.
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